Childhood in the House (and the attendant hazards therein)
by Taywen
Summary: Things are (technically) easier in the House: you don't get hungry or thirsty, and it's pretty hard to die. Then again, everyone in the House is emotionally-stunted and none of them really know what to do with a young child. Well, it's the thought that counts, right? / Nine moments from Arthur's childhood. Part three of Arthur in the House.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Keys to the Kingdom series does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Garth Nix, etc.

Short first chapter; the others will be longer. Follows 'The (mis)Adventures (in child-rearing) of the Morrow Days'.

* * *

Childhood in the House (and the attendant hazards therein)

* * *

His earliest memory is an elevator. Not one of the giant, echoing chambers that seem to be the standard, nor a tiny, cramped closet the likes of which the lowest Denizens are forced to use.

No, it is a comfortable size, perhaps five paces by five for a superior Denizen (that is, one who is taller than six feet), and it is reserved for those highest Denizens that were known as Times of Day, and their direct superiors: the Trustees. There is a thick carpet covering the floor, and the walls are papered with a tasteful, muted pattern. Soft music plays from unseen speakers, soothing.

Arthur is cradled in Dusk's arms, his cheek pressed against the soft wool of Dusk's rich coat, eyelids drooping with fatigue. He can't say if it is Monday's Dusk or Saturday's or perhaps even Marshal Dusk that holds him, but he feels safe and content, and it is an altogether pleasant first memory to have.


	2. Chapter 2

Comparing Arthur to his younger brothers is hardly a fair judgement for Sunday to make, and yet he cannot stop himself from doing so nearly every time the boy is in his care.

They - the sons of the Architect, that is - had been so much younger then.

Sunday was already an adult, intent upon making something of himself, when Tom came along; and the two brothers were so different. Tom's interest in the Secondary Realms was almost incomprehensible to Sunday; why would he want to see those chaotic, imperfect worlds when he had the order of the House at his disposal?

Then Pietro came along, constantly following Sunday around because Tom was already spending the majority of his time outside the House and their parents were fighting so dreadfully. Increasingly involved in the daily maintenance of the House, Sunday had little time for his youngest brother, and brushed the budding musician off more than he perhaps should have.

But was it his responsibility to raise his younger brothers? No, that task was for the Architect and the Old One.

Raising Arthur, on the other hand, is the collective responsibility of the Trustees. Sunday will not pass off the task; he tends his responsibilities dutifully. The Incomparable Gardens flourish under his hand, and he intends for Arthur to do the same.

Nevertheless, there are times when Arthur reminds him of both Tom and Pietro.

* * *

"Can't I play in the Beds?" Arthur asks. Sunday looks up from his desk - more irritating proposals from Saturday, so the distraction is most welcome - and sees that Arthur is peering over the hedge that borders the terrace Sunday considers to be his office. There is a wistful expression on his face.

"No, Arthur," Sunday says patiently. "You are too young to be in the Beds unattended."

Arthur turns to him, his lower lip jutting out slightly. Sunday remembers Pietro pouting every time his older brother put him off.

"I suppose we can take a walk," Sunday relents, setting his pen down. The proposals can wait; honestly, sometimes Sunday thinks Saturday just sends them up to annoy him.

"Piggyback?" Arthur asks hopefully.

The term is faintly familiar, though Sunday cannot immediately place it. "What is that?" he asks.

"Saturday's Dusk showed me," Arthur explains. "I put my arms around his neck or shoulders and hang off his back! That way his hands are free and I can go with him when he does his duties."

Sunday frowns. "What if your arms get tired?"

"Well I tell you and we take a break. Or you can hold my legs, I'm supposed to wrap them around your waist," Arthur says.

"Very well," Sunday says, kneeling in the grass before him.

Arthur scrambles onto his back, wrapping his arms securely around Sunday's neck. "Ready!" he shouts excitedly.

Sunday winces. "A bit quieter, Arthur," he says, standing. They descend to the grounds quickly, Sunday's long legs taking the steps several at a time. It would be faster to take a dragon, but the distant Beds are more dangerous so Sunday has only taken Arthur to them once or twice; for the Beds that Arthur is allowed to visit, it would be a waste to take a dragon.

"Where would you like to go?" Sunday asks, glancing back at him.

"The Secondary Realms exhibits," Arthur decides after several moments of thought. He likes those best, and that affection reminds Sunday of Tom.

The Mariner has always been fond of the Secondary Realms, a fact that has not changed since his far gone youth. He has not returned to the House in millennia, and while Sunday does not consider them close he does find himself wondering what has become of his younger brothers from time to time, especially since Arthur first came to the House.

"I should have guessed," Sunday says drily, walking in the direction of the exhibits. Arthur shifts on his back, craning his head as he takes in all the sights. Sunday is much taller than him; he's also taller than Saturday's Dusk, and the Incomparable Gardens has a lot more to see than the Upper House. Sunday imagines that Arthur wants to see everything he can from this high.

"This is better than with Saturday's Dusk," Arthur comments. "My arms get tired faster 'cause I have to hold the umbrella in one hand."

"Saturday's Dusk allows you to handle his umbrella?" Sunday demands, scandalized. Arthur is a small child; he should not be allowed to handle such a sorcerous implement.

"It's just a plain old umbrella," Arthur mutters sulkily. "I can't do any spells with it, even though I've _tried_."

Sunday breathes out an imperceptible sigh of relief. "Saturday could surely stop the rain when you are present in the Upper House," he says.

"Huh?" Arthur leans forward to peer at the side of Sunday's face. "What d'you mean?"

Saturday has split her portion of the Will into numerous tiny fragments that fall with the rain, though she could easily have it fall merely on the lower levels of the tower as (Sunday imagines) Arthur would stay near the top. However, none of the Trustees have yet broached the subject of the Will to Arthur, and doing so would violate the terms of their agreement.

"Saturday makes it rain," Sunday says simply.

"No, she doesn't," Arthur says with a frown. "She hates the rain, and I think all the water makes her, um, uncomfortable. Because the Border Sea can connect to any body of water, and she's worried Wednesday will come and eat her one day."

"That's absurd," Sunday says. "Entering another Demesne for such a purpose would violate our agreement."

"I'm not saying Wednesday would actually do it," Arthur says crossly, his arms tightening around Sunday's neck. "She's too nice."

Trusting Wednesday may have been, but Sunday can only imagine that she harbours quite a few feelings for her fellow Trustees, none of which can be described as 'nice'.

"Hey! Don't try to distract me!" Arthur adds, poking him in the cheek. "You're the one who makes it rain in the Upper House, Sunday."

Sunday stiffens, his stride faltering for a moment before he continues down the path. "I do not," he says.

"Do too," Arthur says.

"Do not," Sunday insists.

"Do too!"

"Do no- Arthur," Sunday says, irritated. "Why would you think I'm the one who makes it rain in the Upper House? Doing so would violate the original agreement the Trustees made, but more importantly, what motive would I have for doing so?"

"I don't know!" Arthur says impatiently. "But I know that it's always cloudy so you can't see the bottom of the Incomparable Gardens, unless Saturday looks up! Then the clouds clear and she can see it, until another Denizen looks up. The clouds cover it up again after that. Looking up always makes her angry," Arthur adds.

"I am not the one making it rain in the Upper House, and I certainly do not mean to excite her envy," Sunday says, frowning.

"Well I asked her a while ago and she said it wasn't her. I don't know why she'd lie about that," Arthur says. "I don't know why you'd want to do it either but someone has to be doing it." He shifts again, his attention focussing outward once more as they enter the first Bed of exhibits. "I want to see the Earth exhibit first!" he says excitedly.

Sunday does not enjoy their walk as much as he usually does, preoccupied with what Arthur had told them on the way there. He answers Arthur's questions distractedly, turning the boy's earlier words over and over in his mind.

Arthur is no fool; he can tell he does not have Sunday's full attention and his disappointment over that knowledge reminds Sunday of both Tom and Pietro. Putting aside the issue of the rain in the Upper House, Sunday makes a conscious effort to engage the boy fully.

Sunday is not the sort who does not learn from his mistakes.


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday budgets an hour of her time on the days that Arthur spends in the Upper House to spend with the Rightful Heir, though it is plain that she finds his presence distasteful.

Dusk waits upon them during that time, as Noon is much too busy and Pravuil is rather unsuited to the task. Since he spends the day caring for Arthur anyway, he does not mind. And it is interesting to observe the interplay between his superior and his charge.

"You don't like that the rain's stopped?" Arthur asks, kicking his feet restlessly. The chair set before Saturday's desk is only ever occupied by Arthur - the Denizens who report to her always stand - but it is made for beings of Denizen size anyway. As a result, Arthur's feet dangle quite far from the floor.

Saturday's mouth twists; she has been furious about the sudden cessation of the rain for days, and had nearly taken Noon's head off when the other Time had dared to comment on it. No one has brought it up since. "As if it is not enough that he caused it without my consent! Now, without warning, he has stopped it? The presumption-!"

To be honest, Dusk is glad that it has stopped. Of course, he can easily maintain the sorcery to keep himself dry, but the Trustees had decided that sorcery was not to be used on Arthur, at all. Carrying the boy around with an umbrella can be inconvenient at times; now he will not have to do so.

Arthur looks thoughtful. "I asked him about it two weeks ago. Last time he said that the tree in the cage on top of the Elysium was causing the rain. He really didn't know about it, Saturday."

"_Superior_ Saturday," she corrects irritably. Then, "He didn't know?"

Arthur nods. "He was really surprised when I told him about it."

"Hmph." Saturday's hand tightens around her Key, where it is still poised over her document. She has given up the pretense of working, however. "What is this tree you were talking about?"

"Um, I don't really know what it is. The Reaper wouldn't tell me anything about it, he kept saying I had to ask Sunday what it was. All Sunday would tell me is that its roots had grown deeply into the Elysium and throughout the Incomparable Gardens and somehow that was causing the rain." Arthur shrugs.

Is this tree Sunday's portion of the Will? Dusk wonders.

Saturday glances up through the glass roof at the dark loam of the underside of the Incomparable Gardens. It remains ever out of reach.

"If you want to see the Gardens so badly, why don't you just ask?" Arthur says. "Sunday's really proud of them, he likes showing his stuff off. I bet he'd say yes."

"The Gardens should be mine," Saturday snaps, incensed. Were it anyone else but Arthur saying these things to her, Dusk might feel a bit worried on their behalf; but none of the Trustees can harm the boy without serious consequences from their fellows, so Arthur is likely the only person who can say such things and get away with them.

Arthur tilts his head. "But... you don't like living things," he says. "You build stuff, like the tower, and use sorcery. Growing plants is more Sunday's specialty."

Dusk feels a bit worried anyway; Saturday looks absolutely furious now, and she _is_ the strongest sorceror in the House. Surely only Sunday would be a serious threat to her, should she decide to strike Arthur.

"Are you saying I am unsuited to nurturing life?" Saturday asks, her voice deadly calm.

"No," Arthur says, dragging the syllable out slowly. "You make Nithlings out of Nothing and sorcery. But that doesn't interest you the same way building stuff does. Sunday would be useless at running the Upper House, just like you probably wouldn't be great in the Incomparable Gardens."

Saturday stares at him in silence for several interminable minutes. Then she turns to Dusk. "Take him away," she says.

Dusk sweeps Arthur up into his arms and beats a hasty retreat.

The boy waves over Dusk's shoulder and calls, "See you next week, Superior Saturday."

* * *

"The Superior was in a good mood," Pravuil says, all smiles. For such a superior Denizen, his voice is quite grating; there are some things, Dusk thinks, that promotion cannot fix.

"Is that so?" Dusk replies, keeping his tone coolly disinterested. He lets none of his irritation at the obvious ambush show. Vulnerability is something Pravuil will exploit in a moment, and he does not know the other Time's intentions.

"That's good," Arthur says at the same time, grinning back at the new Dawn.

"Did you two have a good talk?" Pravuil asks, leaning over Arthur in an exaggerated display of interest. All Dusk can see is a predator looming over its prey. He narrows his eyes and steps forward, forcing Pravuil back a step.

Pravuil glares at him, his pleasant mask slipping for a moment. Dusk is beneath Dawn in precedence, but in terms of power, Dusk is the stronger. Theirs is a strange dynamic; Dusk has nearly forgotten how it used to be, when those who deserved their positions actually held them.

"We did, I think," Arthur says, though he has lost his grin and is looking between the two Times in confusion. Dusk feels a moment of regret for that; he does not enjoy upsetting Arthur, but neither does he want Pravuil to take advantage of the boy.

"We will have to hurry if you want to see the Artful Loungers, Arthur," Dusk says. It is not quite a lie; the Artful Loungers serve Noon, and it is nearly the appointed hour for them to patrol the Upper House. But they have plenty of time to reach the Loungers' levels before then.

"Oh!" Arthur reaches up and slips his small hand into Dusk's. "I don't want to miss them."

Though all Denizens of the same designation tend to wear the same clothes with minor variations in colour, the Artful Loungers' clothing has greater differences in pattern and style, which seem to amuse the boy to see. Unfortunately, they spend most of their time lounging, and are not inclined to show off their attire for Arthur to see whenever he wants. They have to show up as the Loungers are preparing to leave.

"Well, who would?" Pravuil muses, falling into step on Arthur's other side. He blithely ignores Dusk's glare as they make their way to the elevator.

"You like looking at them too?" Arthur asks curiously, though he does not, Dusk notes with some pleasure, take Pravuil's hand.

"Of course," Pravuil says. It may even be the truth, for all Dusk knows; it's not like the two Times are close enough for Dusk to have knowledge of Pravuil preferences. However, he is inclined to distrust anything Pravuil says.

"How fortunate that your duties for the day are finished and you can accompany us," Dusk says, as they enter the elevator.

Pravuil smiles. "Indeed."

Dusk is at a bit of a loss. Pravuil has never shown any interest in Arthur before this; if he is simply trying to discern the reason for Saturday's good mood - though she'd seemed rather angry when Dusk left her - then that could be all right. But if not...

"I want to push the button," Arthur says, looking up imploringly at him. Dusk crouches to lift the boy up and directs him to the correct button, located in the upper half of the large panel.

The elevator moves smoothly into motion.

"So what did you discuss with Superior Saturday, Arthur?" Pravuil asks, apparently deciding to throw tact to the wind.

Arthur blinks. "Um, the rain," he says, before Dusk can think of a suitable distraction. "Maybe she's happy because she knows Sunday wasn't causing it before!" he adds excitedly.

Irritation flashes across Pravuil's face, too quickly for Arthur to notice. Dusk, however, smirks over Arthur's head in response.

"It is nice to have a change of weather," Pravuil says.

The elevator stops, opening onto the upper level of the Artful Loungers' territory.

"You can put me down now," Arthur says loudly, wriggling impatiently in Dusk's hands.

"Sorry, Arthur," he says, quickly letting the boy down. He'd forgotten he was holding him.

"Well," Pravuil says, not following them out of the elevator. "I'm afraid I just remembered something I have to be doing-"

"I thought you were done your duties for the day," Arthur says, turning to pout at him.

Dusk is torn between annoyance and amusement. On one hand, he could be rid of Pravuil; but on the other, it is entertaining to watch his fellow Time visibly flounder for a proper response to Arthur.

"Yes, I just, ah, remembered. I have to go check on the Supernumeraries." Without waiting for a reply, he presses a button on the panel and the doors close.

"Hmph," Arthur huffs, crossing his arms. "I won't show him my favourite, then."

Dusk smirks and ruffles his hair. "His loss."

As if on cue, the clock hanging above the elevator doors clicks over to 11:45, and the Loungers begin to emerge. Dusk finds himself smiling as he follows Arthur does the rows of desks and listens to the boy's excited exclamations about a particular pattern that catches his eye.


	4. Chapter 4

"Don't feel good," Arthur says, picking disinterestedly at the fresh fish Wednesday's Dawn has served for breakfast. He wrinkles his nose and pushes the mostly-full plate away. "I'm not hungry."

Dawn studies him in concern. There have been a few occasions where Arthur's refused to eat, but his behaviour this morning seems different. "Very well," she says, signalling for the cook to take the food away. The other Denizen looks miffed; he spent a good deal of time preparing the meal. "Put it in the freezer for later," she adds, then turns her attention back to Arthur.

The boy is staring listlessly at the table in front of him.

"Do you want to go flying?" she asks.

Arthur perks up for a moment - he loves going flying - then slumps back into his chair. "... No," he mumbles, pulling his feet up onto the seat. He curls over them, arms clasped around his shins. He looks miserable; his face seems paler than usual.

Dawn feels worried then: Arthur has never turned down the opportunity to fly before. Something must be seriously wrong for him to refuse. She rises and rounds the table to kneel beside him. He barely looks up when she presses a hand to his cheek; it is clammy with sweat and she can feel him shaking slightly beneath her fingers.

There is only one Upper House-trained sorceror on the Border Sea, and she does not allow his ship to enter port on Wednesdays; who else is qualified to check on Arthur's condition? There are sorcerors on the other ships, but their area of expertise is limited to nautical matters.

She thinks, for a moment, of Duchess Wednesday; surely the Key could put to rights whatever is ailing Arthur.

But Dawn's mistress cannot divert her powers to that purpose, and using sorcery upon Arthur has been forbidden by the Morrow Days anyway.

"Do you want to lie down?" Dawn asks.

Arthur mumbles an affirmative but makes no effort to get up.

"Should I carry you?"

Arthur nods.

Dawn pulls the boy into her arms and starts down the hallway to Arthur's quarters.

"Stop; put me down!" Arthur gasps, squirming in her arms so that she drops him more than lets him down in any case.

Arthur slumps to his hands and knees, gagging. Dawn takes an aborted step towards him, then back again when he expels what little he had eaten of his morning meal. She hesitates, then pulls out her handkerchief and wipes his face. Usually he protests such things - he's old enough to do such things for himself, after all - but he just leans into her touch now, moaning pathetically.

Dawn picks him up again, careful not to jostle him, and takes him to his quarters. The first Denizen she encounters gets the dubious task of cleaning up the mess Arthur had made. She settles him carefully onto his bed and leaves a bucket for him in case he vomits again.

"I'll be in my study, Arthur," she tells him.

Curled up on his side, all he does it nod weakly.

Dawn leaves the door cracked open and enters her study, which is across the hall from his room. She considers calling Friday's Dawn, as he seems to be the most knowledgeable about child rearing, but settles on Sunday a moment later. She doubts that Dawn would be available at this time - this is the time when their duties are most important - and Sunday can easily call a meeting should such a thing be necessary.

* * *

Sunday calls a meeting. Wednesday's Dawn cannot recall why she thought that such an occurrence would be at all helpful or meaningful.

"Perhaps if I experienced the sickness I could divine its nature," Friday says, one hand touching her Key and the other reaching for Arthur.

Friday's Dawn glares at the extended limb, and shuffles around to stand between her and the sleeping boy.

Wednesday's Dawn relaxes marginally; she has never felt particularly strongly about sitting beside Friday in Wednesday's place before, but Arthur hadn't been her charge then either.

"Out of the question," Thursday barks.

"It will be a simple spell to eradicate the sickness," Saturday says, raising her quill.

"I can bind it to this sorcerous marble," Tuesday says, holding up a rectangular white shape.

"I can't believe they agreed on raising him at all in the first place," Monday's Noon mutters to Wednesday's Dawn; she does not reply, engrossed as she is in fussing over Arthur, but privately she agrees with him.

Friday's Dawn sniffs and tucks the blanket more securely around Arthur's small frame. Technically, he should not be here, since Friday can represent herself. However, Friday's Dawn was the one to take care of baby Arthur and Wednesday's Dawn finds the idea of leaving Friday to her own devices where Arthur is concerned to be a troubling thought indeed. She feels a sort of kinship with her Middle House counterpart in any case.

"Enough," Sunday says. "The more pressing issue is the question of where he contracted this illness. It should not exist in the House."

Tuesday suddenly tucks away the marble and becomes engrossed in some paperwork.

"He does not leave Port Wednesday, and I only allow the original sailors to even dock when Arthur is present," Wednesday's Dawn says coldly. Though none of the assembled beings have said as much, she feels that she should not leave any doubt on the matter. After all, it was Duchess Wednesday who originally wanted a Rightful Heir; what reason would the Border Sea have for attempting to sabotage Arthur in that case? "Anyway, they do not deal in illegal contraband, so there is no way they could have had any mortal illnesses."

"The Great Maze has no contact at all with the Secondary Realm," Thursday reports, "and it has been nearly a week since Arthur was last in my Demesne."

Tuesday says nothing.

"Ah, wait," Friday says. "Some illnesses take days or even weeks to manifest. So Arthur could have contracted it anywhere."

"You are the one who frequents mortal hospitals! If anyone has contagion on them it would be you," Tuesday accuses.

"Do you think I would let her near Arthur, much less close enough to touch him?" Friday's Dawn demands.

"He is too young to have any interesting experiences," Friday agrees dismissively.

"Your Noon or Dusk then," Tuesday snaps.

"I don't let them near either," Friday's Dawn snarls. The gentle way he replaces the wet cloth on Arthur's brow belies his words.

"Of course, my exhibits are all well-contained, and Arthur is not allowed out in the Gardens unattended anyway," Sunday says.

"No one but Mister Monday, my fellow Times or Sneezer is allowed in the Dayroom, which is where Arthur stays in the Lower House," Monday's Noon puts in.

"Dusk takes care of him on Saturdays. But none of my subordinates are permitted to use contraband illnesses," Saturday adds.

"All that rain cannot be good for him," Tuesday says.

"I notice that you are the only one who has not denied the possibility that Arthur got sick in your Demesne," Thursday says.

"He stays in the Treasure Pyramid," Tuesday snaps.

"Do you supervise him?" Saturday asks.

"Not all the time. I have orders to fill!"

"Your... Grotesques could watch him, surely," Wednesday's Dawn says, barely able to keep her tone civil. The mere thought of the seven beings who were once Tuesday's Times fills her with horror and disgust.

"They are busy as well," Tuesday snaps. "And I wouldn't let them into the Pyramid anyway."

"So he could have found some treasured illnesses and gotten sick," Sunday says.

"I told him not to enter the rooms I had not shown him myself!"

"If you are not up the task of taking care of Arthur, I know Duchess Wednesday would be pleased to pick up the slack," Wednesday's Dawn says sweetly.

"She's a whale," Tuesday snarls; Wednesday's Dawn stiffens, but another speaks before she has the chance to retort.

"Quite right, I'm sure you're very busy doing the jobs of four Denizens, Dawn," Monday's Noon says. "The Lower House is not so impeded, Arthur can stay with us on Tuesdays."

Wednesday's Dawn turns on him angrily.

"If anyone is getting an extra day with Arthur it should be me, I had him first," Friday's Dawn says quickly.

"You're in the same boat as Wednesday's Dawn," Saturday points out.

"And I suppose you'll be asking for the extra day next," Tuesday sneers.

"Of course not. I need Dusk to be able to perform his duties the other six days of the week."

"The obvious choice would be Sir Thursday," Sunday says, drawing everyone's attention to him. "The Great Maze is the only Demesne running effectively - apart from my Gardens of course-" he ignores the groans and eyerolls that accompany that statement, "-and I believe Arthur would benefit from a more disciplined environment."

"This is all beside the point," Tuesday says. "There is no definitive proof that Arthur made himself sick in the Far Reaches and furthermore I am not giving up my day to anyone, Thursday or otherwise."

"Let's hold a vote then," Sunday says.

"If you revoke my guardianship, I won't fill any of your orders," Tuesday says flatly.

"You won't get any richer," Thursday says, though he seems rather relieved. At the prospect of having Arthur for an additional day, he had looked quite alarmed.

"In case you have forgotten, I'm the one who mints the various currencies of the House!"

Arthur stirs at that last shout, sitting up with a grimace. He blinks at the room. "Why's ev'ryone... Where am I?" Arthur asks hoarsely.

"This is the Morrow Days' boardroom," Sunday explains.

Arthur blinks, his gaze sharpening slightly. Wednesday's Dawn realizes that this is likely the only time he has seen more than one Trustee at a time; usually the Times escort him to and from the various Demesnes (apart from Tuesday, who does not trust his Grotesques to do so) and there is no other reason for the Morrow Days to leave their domains.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"We are discussing who will take care of you on Tuesdays, as the Grim has proven himself unfit," Thursday says.

"Huh?"

"You're sick, Arthur," Friday's Dawn says gently. Wednesday's Dawn finds herself staring at him in astonishment; she has never heard him speak in such a mild manner before. "Did you go looking in rooms you weren't supposed to in the Treasure Pyramid?"

Arthur's cheeks flush and he looks down at his hands. "Um, maybe. I know I wasn't supposed to but... everything is so interesting! Except I'd looked at everything else before and I wanted to see something new..."

Saturday sighs, obviously bored by the proceedings. "Did you see any small bars of marble? Did you touch them?"

Arthur's flush deepens. "Maybe," he repeats guiltily, fidgeting. He looks up then, a fierce look in his eyes. "It's- it's not Tuesday's fault. I knew I wasn't supposed to go in that room. I won't do it again. And, um, it's not like you've never made mistakes! I mean, maybe I can't think of any of them right now but I know some of you have. So I don't think it's fair if you take away Tuesday's day."

Wednesday's Dawn scowls. It is not as if Tuesday is the only one who has things he could be doing instead of taking care of Arthur. The Border Sea can scarcely afford the day she takes off, but she never leaves Arthur unattended or among potentially harmful objects.

"There, Arthur's spoken," Tuesday says, a mixture of smug and relieved all at once. "He will continue to spend Tuesdays with me."

"Provided you watch him more carefully," Sunday says, frowning.

"I can take care of myself," Arthur protests, but rather ruins it when he pales and presses a hand to his mouth. Obviously he is not feeling entirely better. Wednesday's Dawn rubs his back soothingly and he offers her a weak smile.

Tuesday hesitates only a moment before inclining his head the barest amount. "Of course. Arthur will not be unsupervised again."

"Wednesday's day is nearly spent," Friday's Dawn remarks. "So you should forfeit your next day with Arthur to the Border Sea to make up for that."

Tuesday stiffens, his eyes narrowing at the Time. "That is presumptuous, Dawn."

Her Dawn looks at Friday. She sighs. "What he said," she mutters, waving a hand negligently at the armoured Denizen.

While Wednesday's Dawn privately agrees, she truly cannot afford to suspend her duties for two days. She gives her counterpart a smile to show her appreciation, then turns to Tuesday. "I believe Arthur wished for things to be... equitable. As long as this issue is resolved I see no reason for there to be a change in the schedule. Unless Arthur wishes for it."

Arthur looks up at her. "It wouldn't be fair," he says, sounding apologetic. There is no need for him to apologize, of course.

* * *

The meeting takes a ridiculously long time to wind down, as those things tend to do. Wednesday's Dawn boards the elevator to the Border Sea with a distinct feeling of relief. Arthur is quiet; he seems to have recovered, though he is still a bit pale. His temperature is back to normal, thankfully.

"Sorry about..."

"There's no need to apologize," Dawn says, a bit more harshly than she intends; but she is tired from hours of politicking and worrying about Arthur. She takes a breath to calm herself. "It's not your fault; but regardless of who is at fault, it won't be happening again. So just focus on feeling better, Arthur," she adds, when he opens his mouth, probably to protest Tuesday's innocence.

Which is simply ridiculous, of course; Arthur is just a child who couldn't have known better. Tuesday should have watched him more carefully.

"Ok," Arthur mumbles. He rubs a hand through his hair and looks up at her innocently. "So we can go flying next time, right?"

Wednesday's Dawn smiles faintly. "Of course, Arthur."

* * *

A/N: The truth is out, I just love writing the cracky meetings that definitely took place between the Morrow Days.


	5. Chapter 5

Monday's Times care for Arthur in shifts so that two of them are always available to deal with any of the myriad issues that inevitably arise from Mister Monday's absence. There is only so much they can do, however; many of the solutions that need implementing can only be authorized by Monday himself.

Monday's Noon does not dislike Arthur. He is not so fond of the boy as his siblings or Sneezer (who is constantly plying the child with treats) but if something were to happen and the Lower House was on the verge of collapse into the Void, Noon would probably save Arthur after he had gotten Mister Monday to safety.

That being said, the boy does try his patience. Noon is not terribly familiar with children - Dusk dotes on those mortals the Piper brought into the House, which absolutely mystifies his brother - but their inability to sit still annoys him, especially when he is trying to get work done.

To be fair, it could be that Arthur is not a particularly restless child; Noon has no frame of reference, nor does he wish to acquire such a thing. It is simply that his patience has shortened as Mister Monday's periods of sleep lengthened, to the point that he is constantly frustrated and can do little to mitigate that frustration.

Take this morning. Arthur has been reading his books dutifully, occasionally kicking his feet but doing nothing more than that to distract Noon. However, the irregular yet inevitable movement out of the corner of his eye is enough to set him on edge.

And his inkwell has run dry.

Noon grits his teeth and glares at the bottle. Who knows when one of those lazy Inkfillers will deign to show up and replenish it? He had put out a notice yesterday, when he'd seen that he was on his last bottle; now he is out of ink completely, with no replacement in sight.

"What's wrong, Noon?" Arthur asks, sitting up in his seat and attempting to peer at Noon's cluttered desktop with obvious curiosity.

Usually Noon tries to finish his work before it is his shift to watch Arthur becaise it is less trying on his patience to entertain the boy when he does not have pressing work to do. It seems that is not to happen today.

There has been an increase in paperwork now that Mister Monday has begun to wake more and more often. He's dealt with more of the waiting Denizens in the Atrium in the past week that he had in the past millennium. While Noon is pleased, it seems as if these newly-resolved issues and the attendant bureaucracy are only taking up more of his time; as if his work is increasing rather than lessening.

"I am out of ink," Noon says calmly, setting his fountain pen down more forcefully than is really necessary. The noise is loud in his otherwise silent office.

"Oh," Arthur says. "That's too bad. Do you want me to take some from Dusk's office?"

"No," Noon says. "That is Dusk's. I-"

He is interrupted by a knock on the door. "Ink delivery!" a young voice calls through the door.

"Oh, lucky," Arthur says, hopping down to answer the door before Noon can respond.

"Ten bottles o' black- 'old on, you're not Monday's Noon," the Inkfiller says, looking down at Arthur in confusion or astonishment. They are so grubby and drowned in oversized clothing that Noon cannot discern their gender; judging from their height, Noon assumes that they were a few years older than Arthur is now when they entered the House.

"I'm Arthur. That's Noon," the boy says, pointing over his shoulder.

"Arthur, eh?" the Inkfiller repeats dubiously. "Don't know you. You a new transfer? Didn't know any o' the Piper's children worked in Monday's Dayroom."

"The ink," Noon says impatiently.

"Right you are, sir," the Inkfiller says in that patronizing way all Piper's children had. They - she, Noon decides, upon seeing the delicacy of her features - makes her way over to his desk, the box of bottles in hand. "Where shall I put 'em?"

"Just give them to me."

The Inkfiller pulls a face, though beneath the brim of her crushed hat and the dirt seemingly ground into her skin, Noon cannot decide what it is meant to convey. "'ere you are, sir."

Noon resumes his work and ignores the Inkfiller, who he imagines will recognize the dismissal and leave. He is nearly done with this document, at which point he can give Arthur his full attention.

"New transfer?" the Inkfiller asks Arthur.

"I don't think so," Arthur says.

"What's your classification?"

"I don't... have one?"

"Precedence?"

"Um," Arthur says.

"Just been washed between the ears, 'ave you?" the Inkfiller asks sympathetically. "Shall I take 'im off your 'ands, sir?"

"I haven't- do you mean behind? I washed up this morning," Arthur says, confused.

"Why are you still here?" Noon demands irritably, looking at the Inkfiller.

"Apologies, sir," the Inkfiller says immediately, pulling several hasty and incompetent bows.

"Wait, can I go with her?" Arthur asks hopefully. "I'll be back in time for lunch..."

Noon frowns. He does have a lot of work to do. Things in the Lower House are more stable than they have been for centuries. The Piper's children have survived for this long; what could possibly go wrong?

"Very well. But do not be late," he says sternly. "And don't touch any of the illnesses that might be floating around, Arthur," he adds, remembering the last meeting he'd attended on Mister Monday's behalf.

Arthur nods vigorously. "Of course, Noon!"

* * *

Noon works steadily for an hour, until Arthur returns.

He glances at the clock automatically, but there is still thirty-seven minutes until the midday meal.

"Back early?" he asks, then frowns when he takes in Arthur's bedraggled appearance. "What happened?" he demands, alarmed. He is out of his chair and kneeling before Arthur before he realizes what he is doing.

"Oh, I tripped," Arthur says dismissively. "Suzy - that's the Inkfiller - took me over the rooftops! But she has another delivery and she doesn't know how long it'll take so I decided to come back."

"You're bleeding," Noon says, staring at the impressive tear in Arthur's trousers over the left knee.

"What?" Arthur looks down, then back up, a decidedly alarmed look on his face. "Wh- why is it red?!" he cries, startling Noon even further. He sniffles, scrubbing one dirty sleeve over his eyes before he begins crying in earnest.

Noon stares at him in horror for several moments, at a loss. Fortunately, Arthur takes the initiative and steps forward, throwing his skinny arms around Noon's neck and sobbing into his ear.

"... There, there," Noon says, vaguely recalling Dawn doing the same on some previous occasion when Arthur was upset and crying. He pats Arthur on the back, acutely aware of how very awkward the situation is. "It's going to heal, Arthur."

Arthur wails something largely incomprehensible about 'it' being 'red'.

"There, there," Noon repeats desperately, patting Arthur's back frantically. "Look, why don't we go see Dawn and get you cleaned up... or Sneezer, let's go see Sneezer," Noon decides. Both the other Denizens will likely judge him for allowing Arthur to reach such a state, but Sneezer is hardly in any position to actually do something about it.

Arthur pulls back, still sniffling. "O-ok," he says. Then he looks down at his bloody knee and starts sobbing again.

"Does it hurt badly?" Noon asks, hoping to distract Arthur with talking.

"N-not really," Arthur hiccoughs. "But... it's _red_! E-everyone else has blue blood... 'cept Sunday, his is gold... But why's mine _red_," Arthur wails.

Noon blinks. If he is understanding Arthur correctly (an uncertain prospect; much of what the boy says and does is incomprehensible to him), the boy is upset about having blood that is a different colour than a Denizen's, rather than from any actual pain that he is experiencing.

"Arthur," he says carefully. "Mortals have red blood. It is not abnormal nor unusual."

Arthur sniffles and smears more dirt over his face when he rubs it with his sleeve. "It's not?"

"No," Noon says. "Denizens have blue blood - I cannot say whether Lord Sunday's is gold or not, having never seen it for myself - but mortals... well, humans, at any rate, have red blood."

"Oh..." Arthur mumbles. "So I'm not a freak?"

"Of course not," Noon says sharply. "Who told you that?"

"N-no one," Arthur lies, rather poorly at that. He stares at the floor.

Noon narrows his eyes. "Was it this... Suzy?"

"No!" Arthur protests, looking up. "It was another Piper's child that we met! Um, I don't know his name."

Noon scowls.

"He was kind of mean," Arthur says quietly. "I didn't like him very much... but Suzy was nice to me."

"Hmph. I'll let it go this time," Noon says, though he honestly cannot understand why Arthur is so quick to defend those who do not, in Noon's opinion, deserve it. Then it occurs to him that Arthur will likely do the same for Noon when his siblings inevitably find out about this incident and become angry with their older brother for letting Arthur out of his sight.

"Can I go wash up now?" Arthur asks, wrinkling his nose at his dirty clothes.

"Of course," Noon says, relieved. "It's nearly lunchtime in any case."

Arthur nods and wanders out of the room. He doesn't look entirely happy, but neither is he miserable and bawling; so Noon counts it as a win. He doesn't even get annoyed when Arthur leaves the door cracked open, even though Noon usually detests having his door left open.

As he's rising from his kneeling position, Noon hears his brother's soft voice demand, "Arthur, what _happened_!?" in the most appalled tones Noon has heard in a while.

Noon winces.


	6. Chapter 6

Although Tuesday has created an elevator exclusively for Arthur and Saturday has granted it access to anywhere in the House, Friday's Dawn still thinks that Arthur ought to learn how to fly. While elevators are generally more efficient - and Arthur's, having one of the highest priorities in the House and thus being exempt from rerouting for more important elevators, is likely more efficient than most - there is something to be said for flying.

Dawn enjoys it, and he has seen the sometimes wistful way Arthur stares after the Gilded Youths when they are leaving or returning from their morning patrols. He's taken Arthur flying several times, but it is different experiencing it on one's own.

Arthur is not terribly partial to any colour that Dawn has been able to discern. While he would like to see Arthur with a pair of the sunshine yellow wings Dawn and the Youths wear, he worries that the other Trustees might take umbrage.

(Lady Friday, of course, would not care less; she cares little for anything beyond experiencing these days. Dawn finds he prefers it that way, for all that he resented her absence and disinterest for millennia.)

Dawn had had a hard enough time convincing the Trustees to allow Arthur to learn how to fly - and when they'd agreed upon that, he'd had to convince them that he was best-suited to the task - that he is not interested in creating more dialogue.

White, while typically the shade reserved for Noons, also implies a certain neutrality, so Dawn decides upon a pair of snowy white wings for Arthur.

Tuesday makes them sparkle iridescent in the sunlight, which is not really what Dawn had expected or wanted, but he supposes it could have been worse. The strange thing is that the Grim had charged Dawn a mere fraction of the usual fee for wings, when Arthur's were clearly superior to, well, all of the other pairs of wings that Dawn had ever seen.

* * *

"What is it?" Arthur asks, equal parts excited and expectant, after he has finished his breakfast.

"What is what?" Dawn asks, feigning ignorance. While he generally despises dishonesty, it is different when he is kidding around with Arthur.

And he is apparently not very good at it, if Arthur's skeptical expression is anything to go by. "First, you kept looking at my plate impatiently as I was eating, when you usually want me to eat slowly so I don't choke or something. Not," Arthur adds, rolling his eyes, "that I ever have!"

"It is a legitimate concern," Dawn says, but he can't quite muster his usual defensiveness.

"Uh-huh. Second, I tried talking to you a couple of times, but you didn't even hear me, so that's another weird thing. Third, you brought a box in. I didn't notice it at first, but then you kept glancing at it too. Is it a present?" He tries to peer around the table at the wrapped box beside Dawn's chair.

"Of a sort," Dawn agrees, smiling.

"Well can I open it?"

"You haven't finished your potatoes."

Arthur looks mutinous for a moment before he quickly shovels the last morsels of his meal into his mouth. Usually Dawn would scold him for the lack of manners, but as Arthur has pointed out, the Time is hardly himself this morning.

"You need to clean up," Dawn says. "Brush your teeth. Wash your face."

Arthur rolls his eyes; Dawn would wonder where he picked that particular habit up, but he has seen Saturday's Dusk do the same thing when the other Time comes to take Arthur to the Upper House. "You know who else makes me do this? No one. I can't even get cavities in the House!" he says, throwing up his hands dramatically; but he does as he's told anyway.

"I'm sure Lord Sunday does," Dawn calls down the hall after him, and smirks at Arthur's outraged noise. "Meet me in the back courtyard," he adds.

* * *

It's a nice day. The seasonal cycle has been functioning since Arthur was two years old and the Flat was stuck on winter again and Dawn made a huge fuss because Arthur was always cold no matter what he did.

Lady Friday does not particularly like Arthur, because - as he overheard her telling Noon and Dusk - he makes Dawn even more presumptuous and annoying.

There are a few clouds near the edges of the sky, but they do not obscure the steady warmth of the sun. A slight breeze ruffles Dawn's hair, and he irritably tucks the errant strands behind his ear. The courtyard is otherwise deserted, the stone benches lining the walls unoccupied apart from the one to the right of the door. The box containing Arthur's wings sits on the bench beside him.

"Now I really want to know what's in the box," Arthur says when he emerges. His bangs are slightly damp, and his eyes are bright with excitement. He sits down on Dawn's other side, a smile lurking around his mouth.

Dawn hands the box over wordlessly, unaccountably nervous for no discernible reason. There is every indication that Arthur wishes to fly on his own; even if he does not like the wings, he is a kind boy and would not disparage the gift.

(But Dawn cannot stop himself from thinking that Arthur will hate them, no matter how irrational that thought may be.)

Arthur rips the paper off quickly, then pauses with his fingers curled around the edges of the lid. He seems to be preparing himself for opening it.

Dawn clasps his hands together in his lap and tells himself to be patient.

Arthur whips the lid off all at once, a surprised (but pleased) gasp escaping him when he sees the wings laid inside. They are sitting in the shade of the barracks, but nothing can dim the pearly white of the wings.

"Are these... actual wings?" Arthur asks, looking up at Dawn hopefully. "Are you going to teach me how to fly?"

"If you so wish," Dawn says.

Arthur laughs and throws himself at Dawn, his arms wrapping around the Denizen's armoured torso. The box clatters to the ground, but Arthur seems not to notice. After a moment, Dawn returns the embrace.

"Like, right now?" Arthur asks when he pulls back and picks the wings up. "You're not going to give a long lecture about the dangers and standard procedures of flying?"

"Flying is not without dangers," Dawn says sternly, though the effect is probably ruined by his grin. "However, wings are created in such a way that accidents are rare; they respond to your thoughts, and have certain safety mechanisms built in. Grim Tuesday has fashioned your wings himself, so I imagine they will be an even higher quality than most."

"Awesome," Arthur says. "So how do I make them bigger? Can you put them on me?"

Dawn stands and takes the wings from Arthur. With a single shake, they enlarge to a suitable size for someone of Arthur's stature.

"Turn around," Dawn says, and carefully attaches them over Arthur's shoulder blades. He twitches under Dawn's hands, accustoming to the feeling Dawn assumes, then spins around with a laugh.

The wings nearly overbalance him, but he rights himself easily. "What's first? Can we fly all the way up to the Scriptorium?"

"The Scriptorium remains off-limits," Dawn says. "And I think flying beyond the Flat - or even beyond Aurianburg - might be too ambitious for your first time."

"Ok, but I can fly now, right? I take off like this-?" Arthur crouches and leaps into the air, wings flapping dutifully to make him airborne.

Dawn summons his own wings and follows Arthur, steadying the boy when he tries an ill-advised spin. "Perhaps mastering the basics would be a logical first step," he says.

"Well, go on then. Show me the basics!" Arthur says brightly.


	7. Chapter 7

There is no way to track the passage of time in the tower. Though Grim Tuesday has recently moved him to one of the few rooms with an actual window, there is no sun or moon to mark the passing of the day, nor is there a clock.

The only way Tom can begin to track the days is by the child's presence. He is there on Tuesdays, and every Tuesday the door to Tom's room locks. Obviously, Grim Tuesday does not want his other living treasure to find out about the Mariner.

Tom wonders about the child. He is not one of the mortals the Piper had brought into the House, because he is aging. Besides, he knows that the youngest of the Piper's children were at least six. Where, then, is the boy from? And for what purpose is Tuesday caring for him? If the boy were a treasure, would Tuesday not keep him in the tower all the time?

Tom sets down his pen and goes over to the small window, unable to ignore the frantic emergency rockets flashing beyond. He can faintly hear the alarms though the sound is muffled by the glass pyramid surrounding the tower and the walls of the tower itself. It is a Tuesday. The boy is here. Will Tuesday attend to the emergency, or will he wait? It has not, Tom is reasonably sure, been long since his door locked and the boy arrived.

Tom returns to his desk, though he does not take up the pen again. The ledger records the slaves without Tom in any case.

He doubts that Tuesday will call on Tom to watch the boy again; he must be old enough to know that Tom is out of place among Tuesday's treasures. But the buttresses between the Far Reaches and the Void must be thin by now, and he wonders whether Tuesday can afford to wait.

Not for the first time, Tom finds himself staring at the bottled worldlets Tuesday stores with him. They are a sort of retreat from the utter monotony of his life, yet any time he spends in the bottle is a mere second in the tower. So it is not much of a retreat at all.

The handle of his door turns, though it remains locked. Tom turns to stare at, disbelieving. It cannot be Tuesday, who can open any lock within the Far Reaches with a single touch; so it must be the boy.

The handle does not move again, and Tom wonders if it is some sick joke of Tuesday's. But surely he has other things to worry about, especially now. The rockets are still going off.

The handle rattles again, insistent, then the lock suddenly disengages and the door opens inward with a shudder of disused hinges.

The boy is smiling, obviously pleased with himself, though he freezes when he crosses the threshold and catches sight of Tom.

"Hello," Tom says, moving slowly and deliberately to raise his hands and show that he means the child no harm.

"Hi," the boy says, though he looks uncertain. His gaze darts around the cell briefly before it resettles upon Tom. "Is this your room?"

"Yes," Tom agrees.

"I wanted to look out the window," the boy explains. "Your room has the highest one."

"That's true," Tom agrees. "There isn't much to see I'm afraid. Wherever the trouble is, it's further down."

The conversation seems to calm the boy, who is now studying him with curiosity. "You weren't here before. I didn't know Tuesday let other people into the tower."

"I am no visitor," Tom says, after attempts to give more explicit descriptions of his predicament fail. Tuesday is nothing if not thorough; it seems Tom is not to communicate about his imprisonment except in the most cryptic of fashions.

The boy's brow furrows. "OK..." he says slowly, dragging the syllables out. "I'm Arthur. What's your name?"

"Tom Shelvocke."

"No precedence? You're not a Denizen?"

"I am a son of the Architect."

"Like Sunday!"

Tom stares at the boy blankly. "You know Sunday?"

"Yeah, of course. I stay with him on Sundays, Monday on Mondays, Tuesday on Tuesdays... wait, you must be Sunday's brother!" Arthur walks closer. "The Mariner! You dress like the Denizens on the Border Sea."

"That's right," Tom says, reeling from this new information. That explained why Arthur was not always present in the tower, though it left all sorts of other questions open, chiefly among them: why were the Trustees raising a mortal child?

"That's great," Arthur says. "Hey, how come you've never come to see me before?"

"I cared for you briefly when you were a baby and Tuesday was called away," Tom explains. "And I am not permitted to leave this room on Tuesdays."

Arthur frowns again. "Wait... if you're not a visitor... and Tuesday never lets anyone in the tower, not even his Times..."

"Arthur!" Tuesday's shout echoes up to them. "Where are you?"

"...you must be a treasure," Arthur concludes, eyes wide.

"Arthur!" Tuesday yells again.

"I'm coming!" Arthur calls, though he doesn't look away from Tom. "I have to go- but I'll come back when I get the chance, I promise."

Tom's protests won't come out; Tuesday's binding is thorough. The door shuts behind Arthur and locks a moment later, and then Tom is alone once more.

Tom considers smashing the bottles, something he hasn't done since he was first captured by Tuesday, he is so furious. The only thing that stops him is the knowledge that the destroyed worldlets will be added to his debt, and it is a heavy enough burden as it is.

* * *

Arthur returns the next Tuesday as promised. He looks troubled, and does not enter the room after opening the door.

"I asked Sunday about you. He said you've been missing for almost two thousand years, and the Piper hasn't been seen for seven hundred," Arthur says.

"I am surprised he could be bothered to take note of something beyond his Gardens," Tom says, not without bitterness. He wonders where Pietro is; it is strange for his youngest brother to remain absent from the House for so long. He did not have the aversion to it that Tom has, though Pietro was also not as attached to the House as Sunday is.

"I don't want Tuesday to get in trouble again," Arthur says. "But it's not fair that you've been locked up here for so long either." He bites his lip. "I don't know what to do."

"How did you open the door?" Tom asks after it becomes apparent that any of the other things he wants to say on the matter will not be permitted.

"Oh, sorcery," Arthur says. "Don't tell anyone! Um, not that you can, I guess. Sorry. Anyway I've managed to learn a bit from Saturday's Dusk, just from watching him. Not that I have much time to practice..."

"Hm," Tom says. "What do you plan to do?"

Arthur frowns again. "Maybe... I can talk Tuesday around. If he lets you go, no one else has to know he was keeping you here."

"And if I want them to know?"

Arthur looks down. "I-I guess that would make sense..."

Tom looks away, gazing around the small expanse that has been his entire world recently. "I am not so petty," he says at last. "If you can talk Tuesday around, I will gladly leave and never return."

Arthur doesn't answer immediately. To be honest, Tom does not know what to make of him; he cannot be more then eleven, but he seems mature beyond his years. And how had that come about? Tom would not have expected a child raised by Denizens to seem so normal, unusual maturity aside.

"You travel all over the Secondary Realms, right?" Arthur asks.

Tom nods.

"Can you take me to Earth? Dawn - Friday's Dawn, I mean - he says my parents are dead but I still want to see the place where I was born."

Tom doesn't often think of his childhood; it is so far away, and makes up the tiniest fraction of his vast lifetime. He cannot imagine how Arthur feels, the only true mortal among Denizens. And Sunday. Tom's older brother really does warrant a category all of his own.

"I will, if you get permission," Tom says. "Having one Trustee against me is trouble enough, I would not want to spite them all."

"Ah... so no," Arthur mutters, disappointed. Tom wonders if he has asked to visit Earth before. "I'll go talk to Tuesday now."

"Be careful," Tom says. While Tuesday does not have the worst temper, he is still dangerous when angered.

Arthur blinks. "Tuesday wouldn't hurt me, Tom." He walks away, not bothering to close the door. It isn't like Tom can leave the room anyway; locking his door was to deter Arthur from entering.

* * *

"You're free to go," Tuesday says, after Arthur has left for the Border Sea.

It looks like the words are dragged from him; he spits them out as if they disgust him.

Still, Tom is surprised that Tuesday is willing to relinquish anything. Wary of treachery, he summons his harpoon to his hand.

Tuesday narrows his eyes, but does nothing more. "You may have the vessel of your choice from one of those worldlets," he adds stiffly, gesturing to the bottles with a jerk of his head. "... Your previous ship was destroyed when I... acquired you."

"When you abducted me."

"Yes."

"I want the _Helios_."

Tuesday looks pained, as he rightly should. The _Helios_ is a work of art, and if Tom is not mistaken, Tuesday has the original, not a copy. "Very well," he says flatly. "In exchange, you will not tell the other Trustees where you have been these past millennia."

"I don't know why any of them would care," Tom says sincerely. "... Though I already told Arthur that I would not speak of it to them."

Surprise, swiftly followed by annoyance, crosses Tuesday's face. "That boy..." he mutters, but he sounds more exasperated than angry. If Tom was interested in prolonging his stay in the Far Reaches, he might ask Tuesday what was wrong - but he is eager to leave.

Tom hesitates for only a moment before he pulls off his whalebone medallion and holds it out to Tuesday. "Give this to Arthur when you see him next. And I will be checking to see that you do," he adds. "I might have to visit my older brother if you don't."

Tuesday sneers at the mention of Sunday, but takes the medallion and tucks it into his pocket. "Where do you want to go, Captain?"

Tom thinks for a moment. "Well, I know where I want my next journey to begin..."


	8. Chapter 8

"That medallion is new, Arthur," Thursday remarks without thinking over the midday meal.

Arthur freezes, fork halfway from his mouth, as a guilty expression crosses his face. His left hand rises in an aborted motion to the pale medallion hanging from his neck. "Uh, yeah, it is," he says, putting his fork down with the air of one preparing their defenses. "You're the first one who's noticed."

The Marshals are looking at him with expressions ranging from surprise to approval, all of which serve to annoy the Trustee. Thursday ignores them for the sake of his mood. Just because he has little to do with Arthur - an effect from when the boy was young and would become upset whenever Thursday approached - does not mean he knows nothing about Arthur.

"Was it a gift?" Thursday asks. Tuesday plies the boy with all sorts of things every time Arthur goes to the Far Reaches, but he does not usually carry them around in this fashion. If the other Trustees are starting to give Arthur significant gifts, Thursday does not want to fall behind.

"Yeah," Arthur says, but does not elaborate. Usually he is quite straightforward, so this brief answer intrigues Thursday. However, before he gets the chance to inquire any further Arthur starts crying. He isn't sobbing or anything - but tears start leaking from his eyes and Thursday has sudden flashbacks of Arthur's infancy.

The Marshals are glaring at him as if Thursday is the cause of Arthur's tears. He stiffens; all he's done is ask the boy some questions, and had Arthur attempted to change the subject Thursday would have allowed it. Probably. He does not often speak with Arthur - the boy does not initiate conversation and Thursday is still hesitant to begin it himself.

"You do not have to speak of it if you don't want to, Arthur," Dawn says quickly.

"No, I- it's not a secret, just..." Arthur looks more perplexed than upset as he wipes at his eyes with one sleeve. He stares at Thursday, frowning.

"What is it?" Thursday asks, his voice harsher than he intends. The familiar frustration from Arthur's infancy has returned, but at least now Thursday can ask the boy what is wrong.

"Something... something's talking in my head. It sounds familiar, but I've never heard it before," Arthur says. "This is weird. I heard it in my head and then I just started crying."

Thursday freezes. The Will picks up its insidious hissing almost immediately, but that is enough for Thursday to realize that its voice had been absent from his own mind, no matter how briefly.

"Oh, it stopped," Arthur says, confirming his suspicions.

Thursday looks at his Times, who he imagines would be the next likely targets for the Will's machinations. "Have you experienced anything like what Arthur just described?"

The Marshals shake their heads, obviously confused. Well, that is no surprise. Thursday knows that his own behaviour over the past ten millennia is enough to alienate them.

"So you know what it is, sir?" Noon asks cautiously.

"I do," Thursday confirms flatly. Instead of clouding his judgement, his fury has focussed his attention to a fine point. The Will's vitriol is little more than a background hum in his mind, worthy of no attention whatsoever.

Thursday's primary purpose is obedience, followed closely by protection. When the Will was focussed only on Thursday, he bore its mental assaults without complaint. His own role was relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of things and he was never created with exceptional self-preservation. After all, he deserved the Will's abuse for going along with the other Trustees and breaking the Will, never mind that he was ordered to do so. It is not as if he disagreed with those orders.

Now that he knows his binding of the Will is weak enough for the snake to communicate with Arthur - and that it would stoop so low as to attack a mere child - his way is clear. Arthur is in the custody of all the Trustees, who have a duty to raise him to the best of their abilities and protect him from harm.

Across the table, Arthur winces, and Thursday realizes that the Will is silent once more. That is the end of enough.

Thursday draws the Fourth Key, causing the Marshals to start to their feet. At least one chair clatters to the floor as they draw their weapons, uncertainty painted across their features as they look around the dining room - which is otherwise deserted - for some threat.

The snake's coils shift, tightening around the massive sword's hilt and cross-guard as he glares at it. All his fury from the past ten millennia is intent upon on binding the snake to silence and inertia, his own will channelled through the Key and against the snake. It shudders, going stiff, and does not move again.

The silence in his own mind is deafening. Thursday had grown accustomed to the steady, vicious commentary from the Will. Its absence, while welcome, is utterly unfamiliar.

Would this complete a binding have been possible in the past, had Thursday merely brought his entire will to bear? Has he suffered needlessly these past ten thousand years?

"Thursday?" Arthur asks, startling him from the privacy of his thoughts.

"Yes, Arthur?" He returns the Key to its badge; there is no point in dwelling on the past now.

"What happened?" Arthur is more hesitant than when he poses questions to the Marshals; but then, Thursday is not so close to the boy as his Times are, and he knows that he is much more volatile as well.

"Can you still hear the voice?" Thursday asks, declining to respond. The Trustees have not decided when to tell Arthur about the Will, and he does not wish to incur any more ill will from his fellows than he already has in the past.

"No. Quiet again. What was it?"

"I would like to know as well, sir," Dusk says, predictably lending Arthur his support. The three Times sit again, Noon pausing to right his toppled chair, when they realize that whatever threat Thursday faced has been dealt with.

"The Will," Thursday says shortly. "I cannot tell you more than that," he adds for Arthur's benefit, when the boy opens his mouth to speak. The Marshals know what Thursday is talking about already. "If you wish to know more, ask Sunday. I suppose Saturday might tell you too, just to be contrary."

"She's getting better," Arthur defends. Thursday wonders if the boy would extend him the same courtesy were another Trustee to malign him within Arthur's hearing.

"That she is," Thursday acknowledges. They are all changing in small but meaningful ways. Perhaps reverting would be a better word. Either way, the House is slowly being restored. He decides to change the subject. "I believe the Will was making you cry whenever I was around when you were a baby, though what its motive was I cannot begin to fathom."

Arthur nods slowly. "That makes sense. I was reading this book in the Middle House about conditioning... Um, don't tell Friday's Dawn, he still thinks I should be reading those dumb levelled readers," Arthur adds quickly. "Anyway, maybe it just made me cry when I was a baby and stopped when I got old enough to realize how weird it would be to have a voice in my head. Then when it tried talking to me now, that triggered my conditioned response, crying."

"What did it speak to you about?"

Arthur touched the medallion. "It asked about the Mariner. He's the one who gave me the medallion, and I guess the Will recognized it?"

"I see," Thursday says. As far as he knows, the Mariner has been absent for millennia, but then again non-Army Denizens have little cause to come to the Great Maze. "If you ever experience an unknown voice in your head again, you should inform the nearest Trustee. Or Time," he adds, thinking of Wednesday and Friday's absences.

Arthur nods. "Of course."

The meal resumes, but the previously pleasant atmosphere is strained. The Marshals sneak looks at Thursday and Arthur. Thursday ignores them, and Arthur seems distracted by his own thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

The Lieutenant-Keeper of the Front Door - the first one, that is - hadn't really been expecting to receive any sort of reply to the letters he'd penned to various Morrow Days in several moments of anger. The Trustees were uninterested in what became of the House, else why would they have allowed the Captain-Keeper position to remain empty for so long? That was the conclusion he had reached, yet finally (after thousands of years, a significant period of time even by the long-lived Denizen's standards) another Lieutenant had been appointed.

No longer bound to remain within the Front Door at all times, the Lieutenant-Keeper had taken to spending some of his counterpart's shifts abroad in the House. Within a relatively short span of time - a matter of years, little more than a decade - things within the House itself had changed, drastically.

The changes were small at first: the relentless excavation of the Pit slowed; sorcerors began to be drafted by the Army once more; Lord Sunday emerged more frequently from the Incomparable Gardens.

Then larger, more noticeable transformations followed.

The Mariner reappeared in the House. Superior Saturday ceased the construction of her tower. Mister Monday woke and was lucid for longer and longer periods of time.

And the Lieutenant-Keeper had no idea why.

* * *

"It is because of Lord Arthur," Trabizond Nage - the second Lieutenant-Keeper, formerly a colonel in the Legion - explains when his counterpart remarks upon it.

"Lord Arthur?" He has heard other Denizens discussing the mysterious figure, but they never give him satisfactory answers when he presses them for further information.

Nage nods. "He is a Rightful Heir that the Morrow Days have decided to raise."

The Lieutenant-Keeper frowns. "Indeed," he mutters. That does not sound like the Trustees, though in truth the Lieutenant-Keeper knows little of them; he has only met one of them, and what little information he does have about the others is essentially hearsay. "They intend to have him fulfill the Will?"

"I don't know," Nage says. "I don't even know what the Will entails."

Nor does the Lieutenant-Keeper; he's fairly sure none of the other Denizens know either. "Interesting," is all he says, then utters a half-hearted goodbye to Nage as the latter exits the Front Door to take his off-shift.

* * *

The Lieutenant-Keeper finds himself thinking of the mysterious Rightful Heir with increasing frequency; his audience request had been denied by Lord Sunday, and he had no interest in going further down the list in an attempt to find a Trustee who would allow the Lieutenant-Keeper to see Arthur.

A human child, raised by Trustees.

Apart from the Denizens who entered the Secondary Realms illegally, the Lieutenant-Keeper is the most familiar with mortals, having had numerous occasions to observe them from wherever the Front Door manifested itself within the Secondary Realms. Admittedly, as Nothing impinged more and more, opportunities to do so dwindled, but he still considers himself knowledgeable about mortals.

How would a child raised by Denizens - even by such superior specimens as the Trustees - turn out?

* * *

"He's coming through tomorrow," Nage says, after accepting the blade from the Lieutenant-Keeper. "Something about receiving an education from his home world. Sir Thursday is against it- who knows what sort of dangers exist on Earth?" Nage adds.

"Hm," the Lieutenant-Keeper says.

Nage remains attached to the Great Maze, despite his promotion. Although the Keepers are not loyal to any one Demesne, the Lieutenant-Keeper is not surprised that Nage feels a connection to the Great Maze and its Denizens. After all, Nage has been an Army Denizen since his inception; habits formed over thousands of years cannot be forgotten in a fraction of that time.

"Billions of humans have survived on Earth so far," the Lieutenant-Keeper says, when Nage looks a bit miffed at his lacklustre response. "The Trustees seem-" fond is the wrong word; possessive is more accurate, but perhaps a more tactful description can be found, "-protective of Lord Arthur. I'm sure he'll be watched over diligently." More diligently than the other mortals that the Denizens were supposed to be recording, but Nage is neither from the Demesnes upon which such duties fall nor does he appreciate criticism of the upper management, so the Lieutenant-Keeper stays his tongue.

"That's true," Nage acknowledges. "I'll be off, then."

The Lieutenant-Keeper mutters a goodbye and returns to his quarters in the Lower House, near Doorstop Hill. Nage had said tomorrow, which is the Lieutenant-Keeper's shift. Perhaps he will have an opportunity to meet Arthur then.

* * *

Logically, the Lieutenant-Keeper should have expected an unremarkable human boy, but with the swift and effective changes that have swept through the House he had been expecting... Someone more impressive.

A foolish expectation, to be sure; height and attractive features were only indications of power and rank within the House. In the Secondary Realms, there are not such overt distinctions.

Arthur is clearly not a Piper's child, for all that he looks exactly like the other mortals. His clothes are not a mismatched assortment of ragged period garments, but obviously new items from the current fashions of Earth. Also, he's fairly surrounded by the most powerful beings within the House; they do not pay attention to the common children. Superior Saturday is absent, which is a bit of a surprise, as is Drowned Wednesday, which is not. Their Dusk and Dawn are present respectively.

"The fashions of Earth are ridiculous," Lord Sunday mutters, adjusting Arthur's already perfectly-adjusted collar. The boy puts up with it with the resigned air of someone long-used to such fussing.

The Lieutenant-Keeper resists the urge to point out that most of the current House fashion comes from previous periods of Earth.

"Lord Arthur." He bows.

"Lieutenant-Keeper," Arthur says, offering him a smile.

Saturday's Dusk steps forward, a politely vacant smile on his handsome features. The Lieutenant-Keeper forces an equally vapid expression onto his face; it seems Saturday's Dusk intends to act as if their various run-ins within the Front Door have never occurred. "I believe Lord Arthur must depart as soon as possible," he says, his low voice smooth. It is not as persuasive as it once was; not for the first time, the Lieutenant-Keeper wonders why he was demoted, but the question is overshadowed by his interest in Arthur.

Nevertheless, he raises his eyebrows. "I am ready whenever you are."

"Right," Arthur says, stepping away from Lord Sunday's grasp; somehow the Trustee still finds some issue with Arthur's attire. "We should get going." He turns back to the Trustees. "I'll see you soon, right?"

"Of course," Sir Thursday agrees immediately.

"You can use the telephone I gave you at any time to call the Far Reaches," Grim Tuesday adds.

"Or the Border Sea," Wednesday's Dawn puts in.

Lady Friday sighs. "Dawn told me to say he will miss you, Arthur." She sounds a bit annoyed to be playing the role of messenger.

"Don't work too hard," Mister Monday yawns.

"I'll miss you all too," Arthur says. "But it's just for a few years, right? The time will fly for you I bet. And it's not like I'll stay on Earth the whole time." Without waiting for a reply, he turns to the Lieutenant-Keeper. "I think I'm ready now, sir."

The Lieutenant-Keeper blinks; Nage had called him 'sir' in the first few months, when he was explaining their duties, but no one else has done so before or since. "This is your first time in the Front Door, Lord Arthur?"

Arthur keeps his gaze focussed on him, rather than the maddening shifting patterns of the Door itself; it seems he is not wholly ignorant of the Front Door's nature, despite never having used it before. "Yes."

"Perhaps you should take my arm," the Lieutenant-Keeper suggests.

Saturday's Dusk exhales, not quite a sigh, and steps into the Door. Arthur glances at his disappearing back, then looks at the Lieutenant-Keeper once more. "Ok." He curls his hand in the crook of the Lieutenant-Keeper's elbow and allows himself to be led into the Door.

"Have you been here before, Dusk?" Arthur asks, blinking in the strange half-light of the Door. They are within the physical door itself, not the darkness of the pocket dimension just yet.

"He has, several times," the Lieutenant-Keeper says drily, ignoring the glare that earns him. Saturday's Times are frequent travellers within the Front Door, though that too has lessened in recent years. However, the number of illegal trips to various Secondary Realms is difficult for the Lieutenant-Keeper to forget.

"I thought interference wasn't allowed," Arthur says.

"It isn't," Saturday's Dusk says stiffly. "However, apart from a few complex, high-level sorceries or the Improbable Stair, the Front Door is the only method of entering the Secondary Realms."

"There is the Border Sea," the Lieutenant-Keeper murmurs. "Though I imagine Superior Saturday and her most loyal Denizens are not welcome upon it." He even manages to keep the sarcasm out of his voice on 'loyal'.

"You two don't like each other," Arthur says. "How come?"

"Clashing ideologies," Saturday's Dusk says shortly. "I believe we have a schedule to keep, Lieutenant. If you could take us to Earth, I would be most appreciative."

"The Front Door proper is rather dark," the Lieutenant-Keeper says, looking down at Arthur. "My wings and blade will likely be the only sources of illumination. There are also Nithlings within the Door, though they are weak; mine and Saturday's Dusk's presence should be sufficient to deter them."

Arthur nods. "Wednesday's Dawn says Nothing impinges everywhere more often than it used to."

"That is correct."

Saturday's Dusk coughs; his glossy black wings are already out, and he is tapping his foot impatiently.

The Lieutenant-Keeper leads Arthur into the darkness of the Front Door, drawing his sword to guide them as well as guard against trickery. Arthur seems to trust Saturday's Dusk, but the Lieutenant-Keeper has no such compunction.

"So how come you don't like each other?" Arthur asks. "Seriously," he adds, scowling at Dusk when the Time opens his mouth to reply (no doubt with further dissembling).

The Lieutenant-Keeper smirks, even as the blade tugs him in the direction of the door to Earth. He could summon the portal directly to them, but that can upset the delicate balance within the Front Door and there is no pressing need for him to do so.

"The Lieutenant-Keeper feels the need to uphold outdated regulations," Saturday's Dusk says. "Myself and my Superior disagree."

"I know that there's interference in the Secondary Realms; Wednesday's Dawn told me as much," Arthur says. "So I guess you don't like that happening?" The question is directed at the Lieutenant-Keeper.

"It is against the Original Law. It should not happen."

"Yeah," Arthur says slowly. "I guess not? I mean, Denizens are inimical to mortals. But if there hadn't been interference I would never have come into the House... so I don't know how I feel about it."

The straightforward answer is disarming. Although most interference has not resulted in any favourable outcome that the Lieutenant-Keeper can discern, it seems that this instance, at least, has led to change for the better. "I do not have a problem with your presence within the House, Lord Arthur," the Lieutenant-Keeper explains. "It is the Will of the Architect that a Rightful Heir should be found, after all; but the other, unnecessary interferences I cannot condone."

Arthur nods. "That makes sense."

The rest of their journey passes in silence and before long the unlikely trio is before the portal to Earth. It seems that the House has manifested itself on an unassuming street within a residential district. The Lieutenant-Keeper surveys the environment, but there do not seem to be any immediate threats in the vicinity. He notes with a small amount of approval that Saturday's Dusk does the same.

"Well, this is it," Arthur says. "It was nice meeting you, Lieutenant-Keeper."

"Likewise, Lord Arthur."

"Oh, just Arthur, please," the boy says. "I'll probably see you soon too."

"Dusk begins, Arthur," the Time says.

Arthur nods, taking Dusk's outstretched hand. "Goodbye," he says, with a smile that only trembles slightly.

The Lieutenant-Keeper is not personally familiar with the passionate set of emotions most mortals experience, but he can recognize that Arthur is nervous.

"The Front Door is always open to the Rightful Heir," he tells the boy. "I cannot leave the Front Door when I am on duty, but I am sure Nage or myself will come to your aid should you require it. We are not bound to enter the Secondary Realms at appointed times or days." He glances back at the quiet street beyond the Door. "Though I am sure it will not be necessary," he adds with a smile.

Arthur nods, his smile firming. "Of course. Let's go, Dusk."

The Lieutenant-Keeper lingers near the portal to Earth longer than he ought to; there are Nithlings about in the Front Door, though they are not close to any portals leading to the Secondary Realms.

It is only to ensure that Saturday's Dusk returns without causing undue interference, he tells himself.

* * *

I said it was going to be ten moments but I really lost steam with these and Tuesday's chapter just would not turn out. Sorry, Tuesday.

Next up, a story with (tentatively) seven parts about Arthur's time on Earth. Eventually.


End file.
